


Uneven Knots

by Okumen



Series: 100 Lifetimes [1]
Category: Ginyuu Mokushiroku Meine Liebe | Meine Liebe
Genre: 100 Lifetimes Challenge, Alternate Universe, Character Death, Crime, Drabble Collection, I should be sleeping, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Real Events, Inspired by books, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Other, all sorts of them, i need to go through and add tags i suppose, inspired by my cat, inspired by random conversations, reincatnation and past life memory stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2019-07-17 12:24:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 7,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16095635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okumen/pseuds/Okumen
Summary: It was only later in life that he remembered that it wasn’t the first time that they met. Not truly.





	1. Relics

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a [100 Lifetimes Challenge](http://randomingoftherandomness.tumblr.com/post/178405355377/100-lifetimes-challenge) that a friend mentioned and I decided to give a shot. I've done the first four this afternoon, and I don't think I'll be doing all of them with only Meine Liebe because I'd like to do a few other caonons as well, but they'll be separate stories.
> 
> Names in these drabbles are not mentioned, but the main character is Lui, Ed is more of a side-character.

The first time that they met, he thought that he would be killed.

The desert sand was hot underneath his feet and the sun beat down on his head, and the young man with the knife in his hand was close, pressing it against his throat so closely that a single twitch might cut through skin.

There was desperation in the young man’s green eyes, a deep-seated hunger.

He was relieved that taking him home and feeding him solution saved his life, though his decision confused him. It was only later in life that he remembered that it wasn’t the first time that they met. Not truly. In this life, it was, but there were other lives, surreal as it seemed.

His coworkers and his family found it odd that he had suddenly taken in a stray human being, and honestly so did he, but he knew that in the end it had been a good decision. Fingers slipping into his hair and lips pressing against his felt pleasant and unusual.

He did question it sometimes, because apparently his robber friend had other, more unsavory friends. He got some late-night visits from graverobbers who were not interested in compromise, had to deal with extortionists who _did_ compromise by taking antiques he had found during digs, and in the end he ended up with a familiar knife pressed against his throat and tear-stained cheeks.

Maybe the past decade had been mostly a disaster, but his life before that had been much less enjoyable and the care he had felt in the touches he had received might make up for the disaster and heartbreak it all ended with.


	2. Sound

The sound of a piano attracted his attention, drew him in, made him stop and listen, made him stop to watch.

This lifetime, he immediately knew him, knew the startling green eyes and was glad that they lacked the sorrow that he had so often known in them. They were filled with happiness, and he wondered if the kiss he saw him exchange with an elegant blonde had something to do with it.

He was drawn to him, but he didn’t need him in this lifetime.

It didn’t mean he could stop himself from going to listen to the piano when he felt like he needed it, when he was suffocating on his troubles, when he just needed to not think for a while.

Not every lifetime he could have the one that he cared for the most, but every lifetime he would keep searching, even if he never found him.


	3. Fears

In the lifetime he was a therapist, he started feeling like he might give up. He talked to people about their fears and he did his best to help them overcome them, but his own fears were not so easy to rid himself of.

The lifetimes where he never found him were not the worst lifetimes.

But they were cold, empty and he couldn’t refrain from continuing searching.

Fingers crossed, he hoped that if he existed in this lifetime, he was at least happy, because at least one of them should be, and he wanted his target of affection to always be happy, even if it left him alone and miserable.


	4. Sinner

He recognized the look of wariness.

He never thought that being sent to a convent would leave him grateful to his parents who thought he was a disgrace for his relationship choices, and he made a terribly cold nun, but when he felt the ripple of feelings and was washed over with memories that made him lose his legs beneath him.

He recognized the look of wariness because it belonged to eyes that he loved every single time he remembered them, every time that he saw them, every time that he didn’t remember them, every time that he didn’t see them.

One of the things that the nuns did was help the poor and the homeless living on the street, and there he saw the green, upsettingly dull, and he was sitting on the dirty cold ground in the slums with his habit filthy with grime.

He went over and over, talked to him each time he was able, each time they let him go.

In the lifetime where he was supposed to be “married to God” — no matter how much he didn’t want to — he found himself in even more trouble than the situation that had put him in the convent in the first place.

The female body and biological reactions were terrible. His family was going to kill him.

But he was desperate for love— for this person’s love— and he would never let go willingly.


	5. Labyrinth

He got lost one day, separated from his date. Not that he entirely minded, because there was no room for intelligent conversation with this person. His colleagues kept dragging him into dating plots that he didn’t want anything to do with, but for works sake he sometimes had to pretend like he was interested in at least some level of social interaction. But it was always a failure.

In reality he just wanted to hole up in the labs. Why else would one go through all the trouble of travelling across the ocean to a noisy country like the US. There were many good universities in the world, but his family had nagged him about going to another country for the cultural exchange, and Stanford was supposed to be one of the best.

And now he was dragged to a corn maze, lost inside of it, and it was the closest to bliss that he had felt in the last few weeks. If it were not for science, he would not spend this much time around people, but he had no choice if he wanted to learn from those more knowledgeable than him. Not everything could be found in books or on the internet, sadly.

He may prefer to be indoors, being under direct sunlight was not something he was comfortable with. He loved the smell of old books; fresh air was a bit of an unfamiliarity to him. But it was nice to get a breather once in a while, he couldn't deny that. As long as he didn’t have to be around people he had no interest in.

He ducked in among the tall corn rows when he heard the sound of somebody approaching, just in case it was his date— he’d want some peace for himself a little while longer.

But it was a different person, a man around his age, with bright eyes that could tell that he was there; the tilted smile aimed at him was one of confused curiosity. “What’re you doing?”

His fingers curled into fists, and he searched for words, but his mouth was too dry to form any.

For all he was a scientist and didn’t believe in things that he couldn’t see, he didn’t know why, but he had never been able to completely discredit the thoughts of those bright eyes filled with so much spirit and life, good and bad both.


	6. Dance

In a life where he is a doctor, he is drawn into a wild dance.

The young man dragging him to his feet at the busy square where dancers and musicians entertained passersbys- those who bothered to stop to watch, and sometimes dropped them some coins, were not disappointed. Neither was he.

It wasn’t that he was physically dragged onto the temporary stage, but his attention was drawn, torn from the pages of his book, and his gaze was locked onto the dancer.

It wasn’t like he recognized him for who he was, right at the start. At first, he was just fascinated— though one could hardly call that _just_ some fascination.

The man was a whirlwind, a mixture of smiles, laughter, and pain concealed behind those positive emotions and expressions.

He dragged him through deserted streets in a country, through a culture, so far from what he had known.

It was a messy relationship that took his breath away like he had been punched in the stomach, or suddenly roughly kissed, it was fraught with danger and secrecy, the man was constantly in motion and as a result, so was he.

The calm life of a plain doctor that he had been living prior to meeting the dancer was far away from his grasp.

It was like a dance, tearing through him.

Or maybe it was like he was caught in a wildfire that he was unable to escape, that he didn’t want to escape.


	7. Menagerie

The lion rammed into him, its mouth wide open, sharp teeth so close to his face that he could count each one up close and he went cross eyed as he in a panic was able to do only that-

A sharp voice called a name, and the lion turned its head, and bounded away from him, leaving him abandoned on the dirty ground.

When he pushed himself up, he found himself staring at the lion, gently pushing its big nose in a person’s stomach. A young woman, tall, dark and smiling, ran her fingers through the lions mane, and chattered softly at it as if it would easily understand what she was saying.

It was a mesmerizing sight.

Her dark eyes meeting his was like a punch in the face.

 

The palace was in an uproar that morning.

The keeper of the animals bowed deep, his subordinates bowed equally close to the ground behind him.

It was because of the lion that had attacked him; he was an important political pawn- important to seal the alliance between their countries, with his position as a prince putting him in a position to marry the princess of this country.

Execution. That was what was decided. How dared they endanger their new prince and their alliance in such a fashion.

He could do nothing but watch, powerless, as a person he shouldn’t feel so much for yet felt too much for, was punished for saving him from losing both his face and his life.


	8. Mistake

He buys a bracelet for his fiancée, and he doesn’t realize how he missed the most important person that he would ever meet, until he had already left the marketplace far behind.

Unable to return that day, he watched his fiancée try the bracelet on and admire it with a certain lack of attachment to the image. It was an arranged marriage, one to tie their respective farms together and create a larger one, but he wasn’t as detached before as he felt then.

The next few days he had no reason or excuse to return to the city. Once he finally did return he searched for the merchant, but he eventually learned that the man was not from there, that he was a travelling merchant, and that nobody knew where he was from or where he had gone next. The south road out of town, somebody said, but there was nothing else that they could tell him about where he had gone.

The south road out was the road that lead toward his own home, but he knew that nobody had seen any travelling merchant in the area. After all, it would be alarm and excitement and children begging their parents to buy something if that were the case.

And none of that had happened. None of that happened. He had missed his chance, like the unobservant fool that he was.


	9. Biblichor

He loved bookshops and he particularly loved the bookshops where they sold old, antique books. You could find some real, antique treasures in those shops. Not that you couldn’t find hidden pearls among new books as well, but with the internet being so prevalent these days it was not as fun to find new books. Old books that didn’t have as much internet presence felt much more worthwhile to find.

It was at one of those bookshops that he sometimes could feel the gaze of a stranger upon him. It prickled at his skin, that gaze. He wasn’t unused to people watching him, but it always annoyed him. Almost always.

He didn’t understand why, but the gaze that he sometimes felt, a glance through the gaps between books, the brief lingering, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Though he would have preferred to know who the gaze belonged to, so that he could tell them to stop, or tell them to at least have some manners about it. Maybe then the gaze would stop appearing in his dreams.

Because he didn’t see the the person, not even once, as the years slipped him by, the dreams remained, mixed with other dreams of other gazes, mixed with strange dreams of past lives, mixed with hundreds of gazes within those lives.

As time slipped away from him, he got frustrated with the fleeting gazes, followed it around the shelf, but only found children, far too young to have been watching him for that long.


	10. Windswept

Being asked to dance reminded him of a storm.

The man in front of him, wrinkles caused by a constant smile, was a dance teacher, too wild looking for the fancy halls of a castle, yet he was a well-known and reputedly eccentric man brought to court as a curiosity long ago.

The smile drew him in and would have drawn him in even if he had not recognized it instantly.

He was personally an advisor to the king, this time. The man in front of him was his rumored dance master.

The dance master didn’t usually make any appearance at balls, but because he was required this time as the debutante princess’ teacher, he made an appearance.

And he asked him for a dance, and without thinking he took his offered hand despite not being all that fond of dancing, and known to not dance at balls.

He couldn’t resist, it was impossible to resist, because he was transfixed by the smile turned toward him.


	11. Jewel

The wine bottle breake into countless glittering pieces as it hit the marble floor.

Beads of ice scatter like precious pearls across the ground when the bucket tip over.

Blood coat the sharp edge of the blade, trail a path down his skin.

The light from the hundreds of lit candles reflect in the blade of the dagger, in the desperation hidden deep in clear eyes.

They are both frozen in place for only a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to know—

 

The last bead of ice still.

Blood slowly soaks the cold stone, catch around broken shards and melting beads.


	12. Fitted

For some reason ties never works for him. Or rather, he can’t work them out. It’s like his fingers wants to tie something else, he just doesn’t know what they’re after. It never ceases to frustrate him, because he is meant to wear a tie several times a week for work, and there he is in front of a bathroom mirror in his office building, struggling with only minutes to spare until his meeting.

“Do you need help with that?” a voice asks, disrupting him in his mutterings directed at the tie. The woman looks amused and disbelieving at the same time as she looks at the mess that he had made out of his tie. She looks very impressive herself, in her perfectly cut suit, slightly open collar and loose tie, and artfully messy braided hair, the opposite of what he looks right now. She looks familiar too, except he’s certain that they have never met; he is generally very good at remembering faces. He pushes those thoughts aside, that is stupid after all; you can’t have met someone that you have never met before. A fraction of a second later he huffs, annoyed with himself. “No-” he starts, but he glimpses the time on his watch, and he doesn’t have the time to fuss. “Yes,” he sighs. “I suppose that I would.” The woman steps up beside him, ending up in front of him as he turns. Her fingers deftly work on his tie, adjusting it until it looks proper where it’s hanging across his chest. Somehow she manages to make it not feel as if it’s lightly strangling him. “Well then, there you go.” She gives the tie a final pat, and steps away. “Looking good, you think?”

He looks down at the tie, turns his eyes over toward the mirror, and then back at the woman. “It does, thank you.” She pats him on the shoulder and with a wave and a sparkle of mischief in her eyes, she leaves the toilet. He rubs his arm where her hand had touched him. She was strong. It hadn’t particularly hurt, but he had gotten a shock. Was it just him? She had not reacted to it.

But he has no time to stand around thinking about it- he will be late to his meeting if he doesn’t hurry.

He makes it to the meeting just barely, the elevator stalling with the people trying to catch it. Even later than he is the CEO, and that’s an honest relief, because you don’t want to be late to a meeting with the boss.

At the head of the table, the empty seat is filled by a woman with artfully messy hair and bright mischievous eyes, and she introduces herself as executive CEO while her father is hospitalized. He is embarrassed and bewildered at first, he didn’t expect this, but the meeting goes off without a hitch and he can take his leave relieved. (And a large amount of confused, because she winked at him at a point and it effectively flustered him.)

He sees two chatting women vanish into the ladies room. He stops in his tracks. Wait... Their building had separate bathrooms. He had completely forgotten. Wait. What?


	13. Condensation

There is on more than one occasion that the other can be encountered at a bar. Perhaps subconsciously recalling that, he goes there, seeking them out in hopes that he will encounter something...someone. He doesn’t really know what at first, doesn’t know that he seems out a person with whom he shares a connection that cuts deep into their souls.

At some point though he always stops going with a mysterious trace of hope in his chest, and sometimes it’s not wrong. Sometimes, the only thing he is left with is the glass in front of him, fingers tracing in the condensation, ignoring and rebuffing unwanted approaches and wondering what the tightness in his chest really was about.


	14. Director

He hadn’t actually met the person in charge before, and honestly, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t have been better if he hadn’t. The man, the leader of this criminal organization deeply tangled into the government and law enforcement, made it hard to believe that he was actually dangerous and a mob boss.

It was hard to believe because the man was so friendly and cheerful, and had he met the man outside of the setting—being cuffed to a chair God-knows-where—he would never have believed anyone had they claimed he was the biggest criminal of the century.

To be honest, he wasn’t certain he believed it even with the man with the clear, kindly smiling eyes was sitting in the chair opposite of him, patiently waiting for him to come up with an answer to his offer for cooperation.

It was unfortunate, really. Had he met him anywhere else, in any setting not so associated with danger and the end of a months long blackmailing campaign, he would perhaps even have been a little excited. But maybe that was just because the man’s temperament seemed infectious.


	15. Divertion

His secretary was far more chatty than he had taken them to be. He didn’t have anything in particular to hide, his business’ work was all legitimate, but he still valued tight-lipped employees. Particularly when they handled some of his affairs. He had hired that person as his secretary because he had understood them to be discreet.

And yet they were chatting with much more animation than he had ever seen them display before, a large and unusually pleasant smile on their face.

He looked over at the person they were in such deep conversation with, a man standing at the other side of the secretary’s desk, and perhaps it wasn’t entirely odd to see someone be distracted by eyes and smile that captivating.


	16. Primate

A detective, the man calls himself. Sort of. A detective of the non-cop kind that doesn’t get involved with cheating spouses.

Pet detective, then, he concludes, and the man laughs in apparent amusement rather than insult.

He can’t explain why extramarital affairs were off limits, he tells him; they just are, it feels off to get involved.

But he can explain why he is in his library, he claims. The supposed lemur he’s looking for and saw climbing in through the same third story window that he says he climbed in through is nowhere in sight.

Until they hear a noise from another room two floors down and they find the beast in the dining hall chandelier. Much to his surprise, the intruder wasn’t simply trying to trick him.

Mainland Europe, he realizes, is just as capable of peculiarities as American university culture.


	17. Carom

The locale is filled with a dim dusk, the lamps sparsely placed and of poor quality.

One could not expect too much of a speakeasy, he supposed.

Some men of mixed class and a few ladies in light dresses mingled around a pool table, some laborers was leaning against the bar, a group of prolific politicians was playing cards around the table.

The bartender poured him moonshine, chuckled at his reaction to the taste, a bit different from the stuff once sold legally.

Brilliant smiles was not his weakness, they could even annoy him. He had problems with finding his own happiness, and seeing others too happy brought out an ugly jealousy that he didn’t like seeing in himself.

He had hoped that the speakeasy wouldn’t hold a gleaming smile like that, least of all on such an obviously poor man.

 

When he returned a few days later, the man behind the bar looked just as battered, and his smile was just as blinding.

He invited him to try the poor table, only occupied by two ladies and a young man, who easily integrated him into their game.

 

Another night when he returned, and another, and he fell into an irregular pattern.

He tried and failed to avoid returning, drawn to the speakeasy for reasons unrelated to the illegally procured alcohol.

 

He wasn’t only feeling jealous over that easy smile.


	18. Impresario

_With the wedding planner!? ___

__The shout echoes through the large ballroom, and he cringes though he’s not the one being shouted at. Not directly, at least. But it’s like he is, and the woman sending glares toward him occasionally while she was shouting at her future spouse was surely loud on purpose. People that he worked with would also know of the groom’s transgression, which was just as much his own transgression._ _

__He’s been doing this for years and has never committed a misstep like sleeping with any side of his client pairs before, yet the third time that he met the man, alone for the first time, the attraction was impossible to push back down. It had been instant, the first time, and it had been a challenge to focus._ _

__He had over a hundred successfully planned weddings in his past, with barely any of them breaking off after any point past the ceremony. He had never caused a marriage to break apart before it even before it was officiated, even if it lead to another one further down the road._ _


	19. Nombre

Hair is draped over his face, a hand on his hip. He realizes that his nose is buried in a neck and that’s why he taste pine on his lips and feel lemon shampoo in his nose.

He squints at the sunlight filtering through the many strands creating an asymmetric pattern in front of his eyes. It’s jagged and uneven light, made more intense by the disruptions drawn across his vision.

Arms are draped across his side and it takes a few moments for him to register that _that’s a lot of arms for one person_ but at the same time he finds himself thinking, _it doesn’t really matter_ and _i think i would remember that_.

He doesn’t remember that but he also doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal. He probably should think of it as a big deal but no, he decides that it’s easier to think about that later, maybe do some research into why this person that probably only had one set of arms when he went home with them last night, not...three? No... He thinks that’s right, it feels like there are three arms draped along his side, three hands touching his skin from that angle.

And honestly, though he did not get exactly what was going on with that, it didn’t feel bad to be touched with so many hands even as he was alone with only one other person.

Even if he had miscalculated and it was five hands and not six- it has not been easy to see that one arm had been lost to an accident that he was not told about until much later.


	20. Divination

“What’s groundhog day even?” 

Her gaze shifted away from the text on her iPad screen at the sound of a German-accented voice coming from in front of her. Bright eyes scowling in befuddlement was turned toward her, and they belonged to a woman sitting sideways in the armchair in the lounging site nearest to the solitary armchair she had secluded herself to that she was sure that she didn’t know, or ever had seen before.

Was she another overseas student? Why did she feel the need to suddenly talk to her, even though they were complete strangers?

Also, they were in a library, why approach a stranger there? Not to mention with such a weird topic.

Despite it being strange, the woman’s gaze was unwavering in its confusion.

She let her gaze return to the document, deciding to just ignore the woman.

The woman did not let the obvious dismissal discourage her; perhaps she really was just talking to herself, but chose to direct it toward another person simply to seem less disturbed. She frowned quietly to herself. Never mind, she didn’t feel like searching further for a better choice of words.

“Why would an animal even tell humans about the weather in the first place? Even if they could tell the future or whatever.”

“Don’t ask if you already know.” Despite herself and her decision to completely ignore the other woman, she retorted with some level of annoyance.

“No, yeah, well, but y’know, the US is, like, weird.” Never mind that Canada happened to celebrate Groundhog Day as well. “Also apparently the groundhog never showed this time.”

She glanced up at the other woman and the thoughtful and sheepish expression that she wore plastered across her face.

“It is a silly superstition. Why is it important?” Why was she even engaging in this ridiculous question?

“It’s not but apparently it is.”

“That’s not even a little contradictory.”

The other woman scratched her scalp and hummed. “I know that, one of my friends is all up in arms over it though, and it’s weird. Right?”

For several long moments, she just looked at the other woman. It wasn’t weird to talk to a random stranger about it, then?

“Yes.”

Apparently, the woman seemed satisfied with the agreement, because she leaned back against the arm rest opposite the one her legs were draped across. She seemed to sink into deep contemplation of the pages of a very thick book.

She returned to the documents she had downloaded to her reading device,hoping that finally, she would get to concentrate on her reading again.

“So isn’t thanksgiving a bizarre holiday?”

She let out a deep, deep sigh.


	21. Splendor

The gala is in full swing, waiters and waitresses slip as shadows through the throng of people in rich dresses heavy with sparkling gemstones, thin glasses balanced on silver trays catching the light from the innumerable candles illuminating the great hall.

His eyes lock on a peculiar sight on the other side of the ballroom. A waiter standing to the side beside a large candelabra, a bored look on his face and gaze shifting across the room.

It shouldn’t stand out- there were a lot of wait staff and they were simply part of the background. For all intents and purposes, staff was invisible. Particularly in a royal palace, where there were too many to even know every face in passing.

He was a guest in this palace, far away from his own castle, now visiting an ally court for the sake of politics and the potential of a marriage to further tie countries together; as a result he most certainly didn’t know any faces of the staff belonging to this court, and yet-

Maybe he just thought that the waiter was acting oddly, by not doing as his colleagues did and passing drinks to the ladies and lords.

Maybe there was simply something that made the other man stand out even though there was nothing unusual about him.

Whatever the case, his attention had been caught and he kept seeking out the man with his gaze all throughout the night.

He kept an eye out for him after as well, but nowhere did he see a trace of the young man in the pressed uniform, and he had to assume that he had been pulled from other duties or part of additional staff hired for the purpose of the ball.

It was a shame, he though, though, he didn’t know why.


	22. Cupcake

Life was a mess, and a pain in the ass.

They scraped the last bit of noodles out of the cup and downed the remnants of the water

The cup went under the tap briefly, then was into the stack of other cups and they rolled back into bed, gaze locked on and beyond the white-painted ceiling.

They should go shopping for something other than cup noodles but it was too tiresome.

They should study for their exam but what was the point.

The emptiness of the ceiling was a reflection of their mind, their vision floating the cracks across the surface and stretching into nothingness.

 

How much time had passed? It felt like a second and forever all at once.

The doorbell rang and they didn’t want to get up out of the bed. Whoever it was would go away eventually, surely. They had to, because they didn’t want to move.

 

The doorbell rang again. Again. Again, againagainagain and it didn’t stop.

 

They were met by an innocent smile and an apron labeled _duMonte Pastries_ on the other side of the door, cheerful even though they had been trying to ignore the ringing for a long time.

“I was told not to give up,” the stranger, with a smile that went beyond a-smile-is-free customer service smile, offered them a carton, holding it out until they took it in hand.

While they silently stared at the carton, the stranger said, no less cheerfully, “it’s already been paid for, so no worries about that. I gotta be off now, good morning.”

They followed the tails of the apron, tied into a messy bow, with their gaze as it disappeared, and then they looked back down at the carton, equally emblazoned with the _duMonte Pastries_ logo, silently wondering _what even_ and then realizing that they apparently had the energy to wonder about such stupid things.

 

A paper was stuck to the inside of the carton, with a message scrawled in a hasty, unfamiliar hand and familiar words coming from their cousin.

The pastries by names they didn’t know were probably tasty, judging by the fact that they were actually edible and went down without making them feel particularly queasy- or so they assumed were the reason.

They glanced out the window from their spot on the floor and they noticed that the sky seemed particularly blue right then.

If that was a good thing or a bad thing and not just a fact, they weren’t sure about, but maybe it was time to actually try to latch on to the message from their cousin and actually accept the help offered.


	23. Haul

The rustling sound of crisp paper.

A deep sigh.

 

A boy with a newspaper cap on his messy mop of choppy hair crouched down to pick papers up off the ground and piled them in his lap. He looked dejected as he balanced on the front balls of his feet and worn boots, and he rubbed his neck with visibly cold fingers as he looked at the bag he had pulled up on top of the papers.

The bottom of the bag had ripped, causing the papers to fall to the ground in the slushy snow at the side of the road.

 

He looked like a sad, lost puppy, scared of the future.

 

There was as if he felt a pull in his chest, for once briefly confused moment.

 

“——” He called upon the driver’s attention, and issued an order. The driver gave him a quizzical look, but obeyed nonetheless without comment; he got out of the car, and walked over to the paper boy still crouching on the ground with his soggy newspapers and torn bag in his lap.

The boys face was one of confusion, even more so than the expression the driver had worn prior, but he didn’t seem urged to protest as the driver bought the papers, every single one, at full price despite their ruined state.

“Young Master, what will do do with these? You can’t read them, they’re completely ruined.”

“Dry them and use them in the fireplace downstairs,” he said, offering no explanation still as to why he had told the man to buy up all the worthless newspapers.

He kept watching the confused paper boy as he and the driver awaited his mother’s return, and saw a modicum of relief make way onto his face eventually.

Even his mother, once she returned from the store she and the maid had visited, did not get an explanation.

A man — even one barely in his adolescence — could not simply, uncharacteristically, do a good deed once in his lifetime?


	24. Lapse

She stood quietly frozen a long time after the other woman had left the studio; behind her she left a fresh gust of wind, carrying the scent of poppies, mint, and freshly brewed coffee.

She turned, finally, a long time after she realized that she was letting yet another chance slip her by. She turned, ignored the looks she was given by her fellow students, with a pounding heart in her ears. She turned to her teacher, and with her breath so nearly stuck in her throat she asked, if she could get the womans contact information,

“Non,” her teacher said, a frown directed at her. “Das agence does nicht share leurs modèles kontaktinformation,” he explained further, “There ist die risque von stalking, and ze like.”

Disheartened, but understanding, she wilted; she understood, yes, but if she had only been a little sooner to move, she might have been able to approach the woman. Would she now have to pass through another lifetime, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to even try to get to know her love once more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that mix of German and French is supposed to mean "No. The agency does not share their models' contact information. There is the risk of stalking, and the like."


	25. Birch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is based on an old Swedish childrens song. I will give you the title and a link at the end (mainly yo see if my sister, and any other potential swedes who might end up reading this might be able to tell what song it is;3 ).

It was peculiar, he had to admit. Beyond peculiar. Peculiar was a great understatement,

The man, who had swept his hat off and bowed with a flourish, in the middle of the kitchen, had on a coat of birch bark, shaped so it clasped tight to his chest and then flared out, wider and wider, the further down it reached. It flowed, much like a bluebell, a triangular form on two legs. From the hat he slipped back onto his head had something wrapped around it, akin to dry fly paper. His feet were clad in wooden clogs, painted in colorful flowers and seams worn from wear.

The man produced a blues harp from a pocket that was not visible among the white and black of the birch, and when he played upon the instrument, the sight grew even further, impossibly, peculiar.

The chairs, the table, the stove, the pots, even the stool that the man sat upon, seemed to start to move.

And they did not simply start to _move_ , but they started to _dance_. In the rhythm of the music flowing from the mouthpiece, they swirled, a merry gathering of furniture.

They formed a cheerful path out the door, down the path, following the playing man.

Surprised and confused, he stayed where he was seated, upon the floor- where earlier, a carpet had been laying.

For a long time, he sat there.

And though he became both a grandfather, to children both of his daughters children and of his sons children, and even a great great great great grandfather to his sons sons sons, he still felt as if the furniture was of the least value, of all that he had lost that day in his youth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Lyrics (with English translation)](https://lyricstranslate.com/sv/det-var-s%C3%A5-roligt-it-was-so-funny.html), and [my favorite version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wcSUaNx4HvE), of _Det var så roligt (jag måste skratta)_.


	26. Dilapidation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of _couse_ I forgot to initially add a chapter title..

He clasped his hands together, wordlessly watching the uniformed men watching him. Rather than say what they wanted to hear, a reasonable explanation to defend himself, he smiled pleasantly, and with a confused, innocent look upon his face.

He claimed not to know what the policemen were talking about, claimed to be ignorant of the crime they accused him of. Why would he ever do something of the sort? Why would he ever want that person any harm? They barely even knew each other, had only met briefly, during a few incidents. True, he had been seen with the other the day that they disappeared, but they had seen them off safely, after sharing a meal together, where they conversed about the new railway that was being built, about the way it so ravaged the ambiance of the old town they lived in.

So in the midst of his claims of ignorance, he did not first make much note of the addition of another few observers- rather, he quite enjoyed the spectacle, certain that in the end, he would once more walk away a free man, as he had in so many other cases in the past years--

\--until his eyes, purely by accident, met the eyes of another man, at the back and with an arched eyebrow of what appeared more amusement than the poorly masked annoyance on the other mens faces; there seemed to fly sparks, and suddenly, before he realized what he had done, he said what they wanted him to, and more thereto; with surety, he uttered his confession, all the while looking the man in the eye, told them, told _him_ , of how he had cut the other person and more people beyond them, how he had stuck them in one of his tile stoves, and burnt them among firewood, until there was nothing but bones left of them, pieces to give to the wild hounds roaming the streets.

He healized then, after laying out his whole confession, of his identity as a serial murderer, that he had so easily slipped, and for a set of startlingly familiar eyes he never thought he would see again, had given all of it, his freedom, his life, away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started reading a book today (yesterday to me, it's just past midnight here) about a murder back in 1962, where a bankman burnt his victim (singular) in a tile stove... It was a real crime and I have not yet finished the book, so it's just the crime itself that inspired this drabble. The book tite, in Swedish, is _Kakelugnsmordet: Bankmannen som eldade upp sin kund_ , and was written by Lars Ohlson.


	27. Claws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my cat rolling on my carpet with that Deceptive Beyyy of his.

Another boy was hunched down in the middle of the path, and when he glanced at him he stopped, as he noticed--- “You’re bleeding,” he commented to the other boy, who looked up with the happiest smile he had ever seen on a person whose hands were all scratched up from claws. “Oh! Did you want to pet her too?”

“Pet...her?”

The cat he’s supposedly petting har rolled around in the dust so much that it looks more grey than black; it looks the boys hands with its tongue and sometimes gives them a kick full of sharp claws.

Apparently, either the boy can’t feel pain from the gashes, or he just doesn’t care.

“I’d rather not.”

Because this other boy might not care if his hands got cut up by a ferocious little fur beast, but he certainly did. Plus, he had things to do. But- “You should probably stop bugging her.”

“I’m not bugging her, we’re friends. We do this all the time.”

He turned a doubtful look toward the other boy. “....Sure.”

He found himself sticking around a little while longer.


	28. Falsehoods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by _Bound by Blood and Sand_ by Becky Allen.

He looks at the stubborn look in the mans eyes, at the fire in their forest green; the Closest glowers at him, lips pressed close together, skin tightened over knuckles. He doesn’t say a word, but then so he wouldn’t, without being expressly permitted it.

“What do you have to be so angry about?” he asks, and the other man answers, venom in his voice, after he scoffs. “Because you act like it’s something we chose. Because all of you treat us like garbage not worthy a mouthful of water. Because we are forced to live our lives hunched over and subservient. Because we’re _slaves_. Because you people seem to think that we _want_ to serve you, when we never had a choice, just because our ancestors were accused of doing something bad generations back. I don’t think it seems fair. Of course I am angry.”

He blinks slowly as his face slips into a scowl, at the words no Closest would dare utter. “ _Accused of_? I’d say it’s fact that they did; surely even you Closest know the truth?”

“The truth is not what you have been spouting. The truth is that the criminals were you Highest, not the Closest.”

He raised a hand, told the Closest to quiet; it felt off to hear him speak of such falsehoods. “I will not have you spout further lies.”

The Closest glowered even more angrily than before, but said nothing, only clenched his teeth together and glared and glared.

With another hand gesture, he granted the Closest permission to leave; in the first place, having Closest in the main house was beyond the norm, but it couldn’t be helped, the Mistress claimed, she had no choice.

But more than that it was unsettling to hear such a thing; to be able to say something like that, the Closest had to truly believe that it was the truth; the Closest could not lie. And neither would _he_ — whatever that meant.


End file.
